The food was fine, Jayne, and I cook a mean spag bol myself. I'm also good at pancakes and bacon and eggs in industrial quantities, so Pete and I can exchange notes. I hope the poem as it now is meets the approval of all well-wishers.

A couple of Speccie retreads:

Missed Appointment

The passengers were seated.
We rolled out from the gate.
Our plane was next for take-off.
For once, we were not late.

But all at once my cellphone,
which was actually my son's,
began to blare a rap song
whose refrain was "bombs and guns."

The officers had questions.
By the end, they didn't doubt me,
but when at last they let me go,
the plane had left without me.


Missed Appointment

I'm sorry that I missed your bash.
I truly meant to come.
First the bus did not arrive,
so I stuck out my thumb

and stood beside the road all day
in hopes that car or truck
would kindly offer me a lift.
It turns out, no such luck.

I went back home and grabbed my bike,
but found the chain was busted.
My car was in the body shop.
My motorcycle? Rusted.

I really meant it when I said
I'd come, when last we talked.
I know you live next door to me.
I guess I should have walked.

She’d nagged him so, about his nagging cough,
He’d finally let her book a clinic date.
That morning, as he’d slowly tottered off,
She’d kissed his cheek and seen him through the gate.

Now here stood Doctor Grayson at their door,
His hat in hand, his visage wreathed in gloom,
To tell her, grimly looking at the floor,
That Dan dropped dead outside the waiting room.

She wept and wailed, then asked him in a voice
Which seemed to bear a world of disappointment
In fate and luck, her lot, life's Hobson's choice—
“So it’s a house-call and a missed appointment?”

Frank

This is not one that is likely to stop John getting his thoroughly deserved umpteenth teacakes ! But it filled in a blank fifteen minutes between lunch and dog-walking.

I missed my connection at Bradford
And boarded the wrong train at Crewe,
Which is why I’m now standing in Scunthorpe
Instead of in Paris with you.

It is clear that la vie here in Scunthorpe
Is a long way from being en rose
And our first anniversary dinner
At the George Cinq’s now cold, I suppose.

But a girl on the platform beside me
Who has multiple piercings and wisps
Of dyed orange hair and bad acne
Has offered me one of her crisps.

Though whatever dessert she may offer
It is likely I’ll find that it’s true
That le plaisir d’amour here in Scunthorpe
Will not be the same without you.

Oi, John! I thought we were getting 'lips' and 'fingertips' back?
I hate to say this (one of those EEK! :eek: thingies is applicable here) but having four same-sound lines right in the middle of a poem in couplets puts me in mind of what novices do - but you don't, so why here?

But Jayne, you have got it back. Look again.

Ah, beg your pardon, John, but I thought the top version was the one.

It's a cracker :D

That's a good one, John. You have a typo in this line:

A frosty smiled played on his lips

Tyhank you Martin. Corrected.

Rushing to the Gig

Walking the dog, then rushing to rehearsal
In traffic slow as slugs, exhaust from cars
Making him gag, the place as far as Mars,
To play Variations On a Theme of Purcell
Might seem to some a big ordeal, for what?
It wouldn’t have been so terrible had he
Made sure to read the call sheet. For you see,
After he got through walking the small mutt,
He took him home, then headed for a city
Which wasn’t where the orchestra was meeting.
When he realized, his brain cells started beating
Him up. But it was not such a great pity,
For then he raced and got to the right place.
It would have helped, though, to have brought his bass.


Last line was:
Though he would’ve felt better had he brought his bass.